my hero . . .

Daddy was my hero when I was a child. But I have to admit that John Fitzgerald Kennedy ran a close second . . .

I was a "Kennedy girl" (still have his age-spotted photo from the hats we wore--white, wide-brimmed, with a green grosgrain ribbon band), distributing election propaganda at his appearance in Lancaster, PA

Two clear memories of that day.  The scary one--an up-close-and-personal experience with how it feels to be all but trampled/smothered/erased-from-this-earth by a faceless crowd.  And the tell-this-over-and-over up-close-and-personal one:  I touched his hand, looked into his eyes, later received his autograph in the mail.

Too young to vote for him . . . but not too young to mourn his passing three short years later . . .